


Carry On

by CROWLEYBEANS



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Dean Winchester Needs a Hug, Fix-It, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mutual Pining, Post-Canon, Sad Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester Ships Castiel/Dean Winchester, Slow Build, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-17
Updated: 2020-12-13
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:20:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 19,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27606860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CROWLEYBEANS/pseuds/CROWLEYBEANS
Summary: Dean already lost Cas to the empty once before, and now he's going to do whatever it takes to get his Angel back.This picks up at the end of 15.19 and is an alternate finale for those of y'all who (like me) are hurting and trying to pretend that 15.20 does not exist.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Eileen Leahy/Sam Winchester
Comments: 47
Kudos: 181





	1. Chapter 1

“I’m not coming back home.” Jack spoke the words with a kind of self-assured sadness that caused Dean to pause in his tracks. He turned to face the young Nephilim, his expression a mask of confusion. “In a way, I’m already there.”

Dean looked at the bustling crowds around him; at the young girl riding her bike without a care in the world; at the oblivious old man on the bench reading the daily headlines. The world once again looked like it always had, thanks to Jack. Green and loud and full of life. Yet he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was missing. Something more fundamental than the trees or animals or clouds. This was a world without colour; without warmth and hope and light. This was a world without Castiel. He turned his attention back to Jack, who was looking at him sadly. “Where?”

“Everywhere.”

“So you are… him?” Sam asked, failing to hide the awe in his voice. Dean looked at Jack for what seemed like the first time, and had a sudden overwhelming sense of regret that he had never really gotten to know the young Nephilim; that he had pushed him away and treated him as though he was nothing, all because of the circumstances of his birth. He had tried and tried, but those few months after Cas’ death had been some of the worst of his life. He could only recall having felt pain like that during those times when he had thought he was going to lose Sam; even losing both of his parents had never felt that awful. Heck, he would have taken another 40 years in Hell if it meant he didn’t have to go through that again. And he had channelled his hurt and rage into Jack, and blamed him for Cas’ death. Jack had been somewhere to focus his emotion; a city upon which he could focus his storm. The city might have been brought to ruin but at least the rest of the world wasn’t going to drown along with it. He had known Jack was strong, though, and could take it. What Dean hadn't known, though, was how easily the Nephilim would burrow into his heart.

He saw the goodness in his face now. He could see himself and Sam in his eyes, and Kelly, and Cas. God, there was so much of Cas in those eyes that it made his heart ache. Perhaps that was why Jack had been so easy to love; he reminded him so much of the people he cared most about. He was all of them, yet none of them. He was just...Jack. And Dean didn’t want to see him go. “I’m me, but...I know what you mean.” Jack spoke, and Dean wasn’t sure he would ever really understand who exactly Jack was. He wasn’t sure he needed to.

“What if we wanna see you, you know? Or have a beer or, whatever.” Sam was stuttering, losing his train of thought. Dean still didn’t really understand why Jack couldn’t come back with them. He might not have been blood, but they had raised him as their own. He was family, and he was leaving. They all seemed to leave eventually. First Mary, then Cas, and now Jack… Dean was beginning to wonder if maybe it was meant to be just him and Sam against the world, after all.

“I’m around. I’ll be in every drop of falling rain, every spec of dust that the wind blows. And in the sand and the rocks and the sea.” He said.

“It’s a hell of time to bail.” Dean began, “a lot of people are counting on you. A lot of people with questions, and they’re gonna need answers.” He didn’t say what he was really thinking… Sam and I are counting on you. We need answers. _I_ need answers. Where do we go from here, now that the big plan for us is done? How do I keep on going with this unbearable weight in my chest?

“And those answers will be in each of them. Maybe not today, but someday.” Jack responded. Dean had never heard him sound so sure of anything before. “But, what about… I mean, can you-" his voice caught in his throat. _Can you bring him back to me?_ He couldn’t bring himself to finish; ashamed at the pure misery in his voice. But Jack smiled, and seemed to understand.

“That includes you, Dean.” Was all he said, and Dean wanted to cry. He opened his mouth to say something. He wasn’t sure what, exactly. Maybe he would just scream. Maybe he’d yell. Jack was _God_ after all, how could he not even _try_ to bring Cas back? Jack put his hand up to stop him before he could speak. “I won’t be hands on.” He said, looking between him and Sam. “People won’t need to pray to me or sacrifice to me. They just need to know that I’m already a part of them and to trust in that. Chuck put himself in the story, that was his mistake. But I learned from you, and my mother, and…” He locked eyes with Dean, “from Castiel, that when people have to be their best, they can be. And that’s what they’ll believe in.”

Dean thought he might have understood then, why Jack had to leave. He wasn’t bound to their story anymore. The one that Chuck had laid out. He was his own story now; his own author. He might be God now, or Amara or whatever. But above all he was still just...Jack. And he was, as Kelly had told him once, _who he chooses to be_. It wasn’t a goodbye, not really. Jack wanted to be something...different. Not gone necessarily, just...different. And he needed to respect that, no matter how much it hurt. Jack stepped towards Sam and pulled him into an embrace. They held tight for a while, and his heart ached for Sam. They had all loved him, but Sam had always been the closest to Jack. Cas may have taught Jack how to live, but Sam had taught him how to be human.

Jack stepped over to him, then, and he wondered briefly if all that God juice had made him a little taller. Maybe he just seemed it. He didn’t hug him, just put his hand on his shoulder in the place where, just a few hours ago, Cas’ palm had been. His last, bloody, goodbye. “Remember what I said, Dean. Remember it.” And then he stepped back, placing his hand over his heart. “I’m really as close as this.” He looked between them, and spoke for the final time. “Goodbye.” He said. And then he turned, and was gone.

Dean moved over to Sam and put a comforting hand on his shoulder, both of them staring at the last dissipating tendrils of light in the space where Jack had been; now empty. “See you, Jack.”


	2. Chapter 2

His hand shook slightly as Sam handed him the bottle, but he played it off as a result of the slight chill in the bunker that evening, though he knew it wasn’t that. It was the deafening silence that had encompassed him since the day before, when Cas had been taken by the empty. A silence that got worse the longer he was in the bunker. He was used to the Angel always being there; his near-inaudible footsteps and voice that had always seemed so otherworldly even when he was human. Cas being gone only seemed to amplify the absence of Jack and Mary, too. Their story had ended the same way it had started; just him and Sam. And yet… it was completely different. There was an emptiness now that hadn’t been there before. Dean wasn’t sure if the feeling was a result of the physical lack of noise, or perhaps a distant echo of whatever the hell was going on inside him. Cas had _literally_ touched his soul, once, and Dean wasn’t sure if he had ever really stopped. It felt like his soul was nagging at him somehow, asking where it’s friend had gone.

Sam must have noticed his forlorn expression and finally broke the silence. “It’s pretty quiet.” He said, which he thought was a pretty good summary of his thoughts. Dean looked down at his beer, trying to steady his breath.

“To everyone that we lost along the way.” Dean said, and they each took at swig. Images flashed through Dean’s head of all the people they had lost, because they had dared to care about them; images of Mary and John. Images of Ellen, Jo and Ash. Jessica, Adam, Bobby, Kevin, Charlie, Benny. Hell, even Crowley. And now Cas...again. And then there were the people who hadn’t died but may as well have: Jack, Lisa and Ben. Why couldn’t they just stop _losing_ people?

Sam’s eyes looked sad, and Dean wondered who he was thinking about at that moment. Maybe all of them, maybe none of them. Maybe he was thinking about Eileen. Dean hoped she was okay. Sam took another sip of his drink. “You know... with Chuck not writing our story anymore, we get to write our own. You know just, you and me, going wherever the story takes us. Just us.”

 _Just us._ Dean didn’t know if he wanted to be in a story where it was _just them_. He loved his brother with everything he had and they had been through so much together, and maybe it used to be enough but...not anymore. He and Sam were like the foundations of a house, and the others they had lost were the decoration; they might have stopped it from crumbling and given it shape, but… it was the people around them that provided beauty and comfort. It was their family who made the house worth living in. “Finally free.” Dean said, and it was true. They were free, but at what cost? They had lost everyone. Just because they were out of the prison, that didn’t mean the world outside would be habitable. In fact, in that moment, Dean thought his comfy prison cell looked like a much nicer place to be than whatever lay ahead.

He traced his finger over the newly carved names he had scratched onto the table during his drunken stupor. _MW. Jack. Castiel._ His hand lingered over Cas’ name and Sam moved to place a comforting hand on his shoulder. He squeezed it lightly, and Dean’s eyes stung in response.

“Cas, he...he wasn’t perfect, you know.” Sam began. “He made mistakes, we all did. But he died doing the one thing he knew how to do flawlessly… saving you.” Dean swallowed against the lump in his throat; his whole body starting to shake. “And I know he would do it again. And again, and again. I just know that wherever he is, he’s happy. He’s at peace because he died protecting you.”

Dean couldn’t take it anymore. He stood, his chair crashing into the floor as he did so, and threw his bottle at the wall. The sound of glass smashing was like music to his ears and it was the most alive he had felt in a while. “It’s not _fair_ , Sam. He shouldn’t have died at all!” Dean walked over to the smashed bottle, feeling Sam’s worried gaze burning into the back of his head. He picked up a piece of the broken glass, and stared into it like he might, by some miracle, see Cas staring back at him. “He shouldn’t have died at all.” He said, quieter this time.

Sam watched him for a moment before replying. “Dean, did…” Dean looked up at his brother, already knowing what he was going to ask. “Did something else happen between you two? When he died, I mean. I get the feeling you aren’t telling me everything.”

Dean dropped the glass, letting it smash into pieces against the hard-wood floor. “I told you what happened, Sam. He summoned the empty to save me. It took Billie, and it took Cas.” He was relieved when Sam seemed to drop the subject.

“Alright, well… let me help you clean this mess up-” he said, when his phone rang. He picked it up, and his eyes lit up at the screen. “Dean, it’s… it’s Eileen. She’s okay.”

Sam’s smile was all Dean needed to compose himself. He straightened his spine and steadied his voice before speaking. “Well what are you waiting for, dumbass? Go find her!” He walked over to Sam and gave him a brotherly slap on the back before making his way to the kitchen.

“Are you sure? I don’t want to leave you. I can ask her to come here if -” He shook his head before Sam could finish.

“Oh God, no. I don't need to hear _that_ again. Go get your woman, Sammy. I’ll be fine.” He said, smiling sincerely. "I want some time on my own, anyway."

Sam was running for the stairs before Dean could say anymore. He did, however, just about manage to yell at Sam to ' _remember to use protection_ _!'_ before the bunker door slammed shut, and Dean was alone. Wasting no time on idle thoughts, he head to the kitchen to get a mop. It was rather therapeutic, he thought as he cleaned up; at least this was one mess he _could_ fix.

He sat on the floor there for a while after, wondering where everything had begun to go wrong. Was it when John had gone on that hunting trip all those years ago and not returned? Was it before that, when Mary had burned up on the ceiling in front of his eyes and their dad had lost himself, haunted by the memories of the flames and the smell of burning flesh. Was it before that, when Azazel had picked Sam as his little demon-blooded weapon? Or before that, even… had their fate been set by Chuck, before humans were even a scribble in the margin of evolution's book?

Dean tried to rid his head of these thoughts, knowing they were pointless to dwell on. Even if Chuck had planned their story eons ago, Sam was right. That was in the past; they were free. Their bad luck had been forecast for years, possibly millennia, but that was over now. Cas had died as a result of Chuck’s ending, but there was no goddamn book or plan anywhere now, that said he had to _stay_ dead.

Sam was right, they write their own stories now. And a story without Cas was not one Dean ever planned to write. He got to his feet, overcome with a sudden wave of motivation. “Sorry, Cas. Nap time’s over.” He said, looking at the name carved into the table as permanently as it was carved into his soul. “I’m gonna bring you home.”


	3. Chapter 3

“You should get some sleep, Dean. Working yourself into the ground isn’t helping anyone.” He looked up from the book of Angelic Lore he was currently poring over. He finished off his coffee, placing the now empty mug next to the three others that had piled up on the table next to him. He flipped to the next page, ignoring Sam’s comment. “Dean.” He repeated, firmer this time.

“Just let me finish this one, Sammy. I’m almost done.”

“You said that three books ago. How long has it been since you slept?” In all honesty, he wasn’t sure. The days and hours had begun to bleed into one another; it could have been weeks, for all he knew. But he didn’t care. Nothing was more important than this. Nothing was more important than getting Cas back.

Sam sighed and sat in the chair next to him. He took the book from Dean and placed it to the side. “The books will be here when you get back, you need to rest. Let me take over for a while.” He knew Sam was right, no matter how much he tried to convince himself otherwise. He hadn’t slept in what felt like years, thought it had probably only been a few days. He knew it was risky looking for a way to find Cas on this little sleep; he could so easily miss things that might be important. But it was the only way to quiet the storm in his mind; the only way to silence the thoughts that never seemed to just _shut up_. So he read and read until the words stopped looking like words; until the pain in his temples acted as a temporary distraction from the other pain.

“You’ll let me know if you find anything?”

“Of course.” He said, and Dean gave him a dismissive nod before heading to his room without another word. He knew Sam wasn’t as hopeful as he was, but he loved him for pretending. They had been searching for about two weeks and still, nothing. Not a damn thing.

He passed out as soon as his head hit the pillow, but he could scarcely say he slept easy. His dreams were plagued with pictures of twisted, broken wings and blood rain. Storm clouds as big as cities that spat out blades of bone. And three words, repeated over and over again: _I love you. I love you. I love you._ And someone was calling his name but the cry wasn’t one of words - it was more of a sensation. Like thunder that you can't really hear, just feel. A chill that runs deep into your core like acid burning through flesh. The call was one of pain and loneliness. Utter, incomprehensible despair.

He awoke in a cold sweat to the sound of someone knocking. He took a few moments to steady his breathing and calm his shaking hands before inviting his brother in. Checking the clock beside him, he gauged he had been passed out for about 12 hours.

“Hey.” Sam said, sitting next to him on the bed. He ran his eyes over Dean’s face; his clammy skin and haunted eyes, but he didn’t say anything or ask if he was okay, for which Dean was grateful.

“You find anything?” Dean asked, surprised at how steady his voice was. Sam shook his head, and his heart sank once again. “I finished the book of Angelic Lore and...nothing.” Dean rubbed the sleep from his eyes and tried (read: failed) to hide the disappointment in his voice as he spoke. “Well that’s another one down at least. Best get back to it.” He stood, but Sam grabbed his forearm before he could leave.

“Dean, we need to talk.” He sighed, sitting back down next to his brother. He had a feeling he knew what he was going to say. “There’s nothing to talk about, Sam. I’m not giving up until we find him.”

“Look, Dean. I know how much Cas meant to you, how much he meant to all of us. But have you considered that there might just… not be a way out for him this time?” Dean stood again, the suppressed rage inside him already starting to make his skin itch.

“How can you say that, after everything Cas has done for us? How can you be willing to give up on him so easily?” He said, looking at his brother in disbelief. Cas had saved their asses more times than he could count. He had saved Dean from Hell, for God’s sake. But above all, he was the closest thing they had ever had to family. Dean wasn’t planning to let him go without one Hell of a fight.

“It’s been two weeks and we’ve not had a single lead, Dean. I don’t think Cas would have wanted you to waste your life away looking for him. Maybe it’s time we move on.” He spoke as softly as he could, trying not to make Dean madder than he already was. But as soon as the words had left his mouth, he knew it was a hopeless battle.

“You move on, Sam! There’s nothing stopping you from packing up your shit and going somewhere far away from here with Eileen. I’m sure as Hell not gonna stop you.” He was yelling now, pacing about the room like a caged animal, but he didn’t care. “Jack got Cas out of the empty before; Nick managed to wake up Lucifer. The empty isn’t this inescapable fourth dimension we once thought it was. I know there’s a way out, and I’m gonna find it.”

Sam sighed, seeing the desperation on his brother’s face. “I’m not going to talk you out of this one, am I?” He said. Dean just shook his head in response.

“Well, in that case.” He gave Dean a hint of a smile. “I guess we've got work to do.”

~~~

There was a kind of renewed motivation after that. They scoured through book after book, coffee after coffee. Dean made a bit more of an effort to look after himself as well, making sure he was eating and getting enough sleep. Mostly to keep Sam off his back, but also because he felt like he owed that much to Cas. But despite their newfound hope, another week went by without a single lead. At least until Eileen, bless her soul, came to the rescue. With _pie._

The sound of the bunker door opening broke him out of his haze, and he looked up from the book on summoning spells to see her walking towards them, her footsteps almost inaudible compared to his and Sam’s monster stomps. Sam got up from his seat next to Dean and headed her way. He kissed her on the cheek and took the white plastic bag from her hand.

“Is that…” Dean said, the fog in his head already clearing at the smell that now wafted through the bunker like a damned gift from Heaven. Not that Heaven had ever even sent him a birthday card of course, let alone _pie_.

“For you, Dean. I figured you could use some carbohydrates to keep that brain powered up.” Eileen said, placing the steaming food in front of him. He was so elated, he took three monstrous bites before he even remembered to thank her. His happiness didn’t last long, though. As the three of them sat there, talking amongst themselves, Dean suddenly felt lonelier than ever. Watching the two of them from across the table, Sam’s arm around Eileen’s shoulder and chatting like there was no one else in the world. He suddenly felt an awful lot like the idiot brother who never realised when he was third-wheeling.

He excused himself, taking the plates to the kitchen. As he washed, the hot water reddening his calloused hands, he couldn't help but smile despite his sudden sadness. He hoped this was it now for Sam. He seemed so happy, and he deserved it more than anyone Dean knew, after all that he had sacrificed. He had finally found his forever person.

But there was also that one selfish part of him, small yet distinct, that couldn’t help but be a little angry. Not at Sam, it wasn’t his fault, but at the universe. After Chuck had nearly ended the world, Sam had gotten her back. Jack had gotten the power of freaking _God_. But what had he gotten? He’d gotten Cas dead. He felt immediately guilty for thinking that. He shouldn’t have wanted anything in return for saving the world considering it was, you know... _the world._ That should have been enough. But right then, all he could think was _fuck the world, I just want my best friend back._

A gentle hand on his shoulder startled him from his thoughts, and without thinking he brandished a cheese grater at his attacker. “Woah, steady on there cowboy. It’s just me.” Eileen laughed, taking the grater from his hand before he found a way to end one of their lives with it. She beckoned him over to the kitchen table and sat opposite from him.

Her face was a mask of concern. _Oh, great_. He thought. _The pity party's back, just what I need._ But that was just the thing about Eileen. She was never accidentally condescending like Sam could sometimes be. Speaking to her was like speaking to a parent; it was like she knew exactly what she was going to say and how to say it. Like she had planned it all out beforehand and was now just reading from a script. When she spoke, her voice was like an anchor; steady and sure, but caring. He could definitely see why Sam loved her so much. Perhaps that was why Dean didn't feel like a sad child when talking to her. He felt like they were on the same level and, unlike Sam, she never sounded like she was walking on eggshells around him.

“How is the research going, Dean?” He liked that she didn’t ask him if he was okay. Partly because Sam had asked him that so much over the past few weeks that it was beginning to feel like a chore to answer it, and partly because he was _very obviously not okay_. She would have seen right through his lies, anyway.

“It’s...it’s going. I guess.” He said, taking a shaky breath.

“That bad, huh?” She stood and walked to the counter, returning a few minutes later with a hot drink for each of them.

“It just feels like we’re going in circles.” He said, taking the steaming cup of hot chocolate from her hand and taking a sip. It was near-scalding, but delicious. It sort of tasted like the kind Ellen used to make for him and Sam when they were younger.

“Maybe you need a new approach to this.” She said, and Dean raised an eyebrow for her to elaborate. “Have you considered looking for outside help?”

“You mean Jack? No, he already said he wouldn’t-”

“Not Jack.” She interrupted. “Someone who might know more about the empty.”

“I’m not getting a demon involved in this, Eileen. Or an Angel, for that matter. If I’ve learnt anything these past few years, it’s that things never go as planned when you try to get Heaven or Hell involved.”

Eileen pursed her lips before taking a small sip of her drink. She hissed slightly as the hot liquid burned her tongue. “How did Nick get Lucifer out of the empty, again?”

“He used some kind of spell. We don’t know anything about it other than what Jack told us: that he was praying to Lucifer over a bowl of his blood. That spell was one of the first things that Sam and I tried looking for, but we never found out what it was.”

“He prayed? That doesn’t sound like any kind of spell I’ve ever heard of.” She thought for a moment, the gears in her head whirring almost audibly. “You know, an ex of mine occasionally dabbled in spells. Mostly the home-based, kitchen kind of magic, but she knew a bit about darker magic, too.”

Dean took a moment to process her words. He hadn’t been aware that Eileen had dated women in the past, not that it was an issue to him. It was just surprising that she hadn’t mentioned it until now. He liked how she just continued on with what she was saying without making a big deal or even pausing for breath. That she just dropped it in casual conversation without thinking twice.

“She told me once that sometimes magic can be created with nothing more than belief that it can be done. Not a pre-meditated spell, but one created as a result of the caster's mind.” Dean must have looked more confused than ever, because she elaborated for him. “Maybe the spell Nick used to awaken Lucifer wasn’t one you’d find in a book. Maybe he just tried what he thought would work and his mind made it a reality. At the end of the day, magic really is really just the manifestation of intent.”

“You’re saying Nick may have _created_ the spell to summon Lucifer?”

“Yes. So if you take what you know about Nick’s spell, and tailor it to be specific to Castiel...”

“...Then we could recreate it.”

They beamed at each other, and Dean could have kissed her. He and Sam had been poring over dusty old books for nearly a month, and Eileen had come up with a plan in all of fifteen minutes. He knew there were, undoubtedly, going to be some difficulties with it, and it probably wouldn’t work, but right then he didn’t care. It was a _start_. They had something to go on, and for now that was enough.

~~~

They wasted no time in recalling their plan to Sam who, unsurprisingly, was sceptical. “I don’t know, Dean. Making a spell? That sounds pretty risky. We could end up bringing Lucifer back again by accident, or _worse_.” He was right of course, but they had to at least _try._ Maybe with a little help…

“It sounds like,” Dean said, taking a swig of whiskey and flinching at the burn in his throat, “we’re going to need a little assistance.” Sam dropped his head into his hands. His sigh of exasperation was enough to tell Dean they were thinking the same thing.

“Witches?”

Dean slid him another beer across the table, a cheeky grin gracing his features. _“Witches,_ Sammy. _”_


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter took so long to post! It's a long one :)  
> So, uh... that finale huh? :/

“Dean?” The disgruntled voice of Max Banes spoke through the phone after the second ring. 

“Uh...yeah. How did you know it was me?” He replied, giving Sam a bewildered look.

“Your anxiety is practically seeping through the phone-line.” He rolled his eyes; _witches._ “What do you want?” Max spoke, and he didn’t say that in a rude way, exactly. More in a _‘you helped me out and I’m grateful but I would happily go the rest of my life never hearing from you again because shit happens when you’re around’_ kind of way. He really couldn’t blame the kid.

“Listen, Max. I know my voice is probably the last thing you wanna hear right now, but the truth is...we’re running on empty, man. We need your help.” Max was silent for a moment. Dean didn’t want to imagine all the thoughts that were probably running through his head right then. He hated that they had to call on him again, after what had happened the last time they were together, but they were desperate.

The last time they had seen him, his sister Alicia had just been killed. And shortly before that, his mother. Though it wasn’t their fault, Dean knew how many bad memories another encounter with them would bring up for Max, but they really had no other choice. They had become acquainted with a few witches over the years but, with the exception of Rowena, who wasn’t an option, Max was by far the most powerful. If anyone could help them get Cas back from the empty, it was him.

“I don’t think I have to tell you I’m not exactly thrilled to hear from you, but…” Dean held his breath. “You did help me out before, so I guess I sort of owe you one. _Just_ one, Dean.”

He could have sobbed hearing those words. A smile graced his face for the first time in what felt like forever. He had told himself not to get his hopes up for this plan, since it was a long shot, but he allowed himself this one brief moment of relief.

“Thank you.” Was all Dean could say. There were no words that could express his gratitude right then. _Maybe I’ll buy the kid some pie,_ he thought. _Nothing says ‘you brought hope back into my dismal world’ like pie._

“But I’m coming to you, I won’t risk having you anywhere near my family and friends. Deal?” Dean agreed and recalled the details of the Bunker’s location before they hung up. Max, surprisingly, wasn’t far out, and said he would be with them within the next 12 hours.

Although that wasn’t a lot of time, really, to Dean it felt longer than the forty years he spent in Hell. The time seemed to consist purely of pacing, staring at walls, and one too many of Eileen’s grilled cheese sandwiches. He tried to sleep, but there were too many thoughts running through his head and he just ended up watching the ceiling for a few hours. _What if Max says it’s hopeless? What if we try it, and it doesn’t work? What if it does work? What the Hell am I supposed to say to Cas after what he did?_

When the knock on the bunker door finally came, Dean practically bolted to open it. It opened and, before he could get a word out, Max spoke. 

“Jesus, Dean. I can sense the anxiety in this place from two miles out, have you ever thought of trying yoga?”

Dean opened the door wider so he could enter. “Good to see you too, man.” He shook hands with Sam, who seemed pleased to see him. Eileen introduced herself and gave him a friendly hug, and they all took a seat at the table.

Dean took a moment to look him over. He seemed healthier than when they had last seen him; his face had filled out a bit and his eyes were speckled with the beginnings of laughter lines. He seemed older and more mature somehow.

“How you been, Max?” Sam asked, handing him a beer which he graciously accepted. 

He smiled, taking a swig. “I’ve been alright. It’s been hard since Alicia, but...I’m getting there.” He said, and he thought Max’s words sounded a little... rehearsed. He also didn’t meet their eyes. Dean didn’t press the subject. 

“So, what’s going on with you guys?” He asked.

Sam and Dean exchanged a glance and it was silently agreed that Sam would be the one to briefly recount the events of the past few years, probably at the risk of Dean sounding insensitive, which he thought was bull, mostly; but Sam did a pretty good job of it. Eileen chipped in a few times, but he stayed quiet until Sam was finished. When he was done, Dean slid Max another well-earned beer across the table, since he hadn’t touched the other one since Sam mentioned that they had ended God which, you know, all things considered, was a pretty tame reaction. “Oh, and I killed Hitler.” He dropped in at the end, just because.

Max looked between the three of them silently for a few moments, his mouth agape. “That’s...erm…” _Couldn’t have said it better myself,_ he thought. “I mean… I knew something funky was happening recently. Things just felt...off, I guess. But I didn’t realise -” He paused and looked at Dean, his expression one of shock and awe. “Wait, you killed Hitler?”

He raised his beer to the air, smirking at him before gulping back the last remaining drops. “Hell yeah, I killed Hitler.”

Max clinked his bottle against Dean’s and Sam rolled his eyes. Eileen took his hand and smiled as she looked between the two of them. It was a small, bittersweet moment that would stick with Dean for a while, for some reason. Things, just for a second, were almost....normal.

But then reality set in and the emptiness he felt at Cas’ absence returned stronger than ever. _He should be here with us,_ he thought. _He deserves to be here with us._  


Max seemed to sense the sudden change in his mood, or maybe he was just eager to get this all over with, because he cut right to the chase.

“So, why am I here?” He asked. Dean looked at the floor.

“It’s...Cas.”

“The Angel?”

Max’s response didn’t sit right with him for some reason. Cas was family. He was the only person other than Sam that hadn’t abandoned him. He had saved the brothers so many times that he had lost count. He had rebelled against Heaven; given up armies and power for him. And his one, final sacrifice, had been his life. 

There wasn’t one person, not even Sam, who had given up so much for him. But, obviously he didn’t say any of this to Max. He supposed, for all intents and purposes, _the Angel_ would have to do for now.

“Yeah, him.” Dean said. Sam had only mentioned Cas’ sacrifice to Max briefly, thinking it best for Dean to elaborate after. “Before Chuck zapped everyone away, Cas....” His voice caught in his throat as he said his name. Sam gave him a sorrowful look, but Dean made sure not to meet his eyes. “Billie was coming after us, and Cas, he...he summoned the empty, and it took them both. He saved me.”

It was the same vague explanation he had given to Sam and Jack. He wasn’t quite sure why he was so reluctant to tell them what had really happened. He didn’t feel ashamed or anything, it was more like...if he said it out loud, then it would be real. He would have to acknowledge and process exactly what Cas had told him before he was taken, and he wasn’t sure he was ready to do that just yet. 

Cas’ confession also felt, in a way, like too precious of a thing to be shared. It was something that was really, truly theirs. Like one last little connection to each other, which would be broken the second the truth was out. It was like the last thread that connected them and, if that thread was cut, he would lose Cas forever, and a piece of himself along with him.

“And you...what? You want me to help you get him back?”

“I _need_ you to help me get him back.” Dean said, the desperation in his voice seeping through before he could stop it; like sand through fingertips. He figured Max would at least try, considering he had driven all this way to come here. _But there’s no guarantee he knows anymore than we do._ This was a thought that had crossed his mind a few times, but he had pushed it away before he let himself consider it. He needed to believe that Max could help them in some way; even if that was just pointing them in the right direction.  


“Look, guys. I’m sorry about your friend, I really am.” He gave Dean a sympathetic smile that made him wince. “But I don’t know what this... _empty_ thing even is. How could I possibly be of any help to you?”

“Well, we’ve already sort of got an idea, we just need some help executing it.” Sam spoke. “It’s pretty risky but we figured if anyone would know anything about it, it would be you.”

“Yeah I mean, we couldn’t ask Rowena because she's _big scary Hell queen_ now. Well… I mean, more big scary Hell queen than usual. And you’re the only witch we know who could even begin to match her power.” Dean said. “Please, Max.”

He sighed and paused for a moment, looking at them all pleadingly. When no one backed down, he finally gave in. “Well, what are you waiting for? Tell me about this plan of yours that I’m almost certain is gonna get us dead, or worse.”

~~~

An hour later, they were all sat hunched around the kitchen table, Max scribbling notes into Sam’s old Star Wars notebook like he was recording the word of God as it was being spoken. Dean chuckled to himself at the thought; the second most powerful witch of all time grovelling at Chuck’s feet as he recounted what he was planning to put in his review of the Game of Thrones finale on IMDB. _Exquisite, no no wait. Ethereal... yes, oh I am good! Get me a cherry soda when you’re done, will you? I’m a tad weary after all that universe destroying I did this morning. Gotta get my energy up for some puppy smiting later! Oh, and remember to make it a diet!_

“Ok, ok. Tell me one more time _exactly_ what Nick did.” Max asked, chewing on the tip of the pen as he scanned his notes.

“We’ve told you twice already!” Eileen said in frustration. Her heart wasn’t really in it, though. She knew how much was riding on this.

“Last time, I promise. I just want to make sure I’ve got it exactly.”

She rolled her eyes and began to recount the facts for the third time. “We know he used Jack’s blood, Lucifer’s son, to open a portal to the empty. Jack said he was praying over the blood when he found him; he killed Nick, but it was too late. That’s all we know.”

“Did Jack mention anything about the prayer? Was it in Latin?”

“He didn’t say. We really don’t know anything else.”

Max sighed and chewed the pen with more urgency. It was a Darth Maul pen that had come with the notebook, so he figured it probably deserved it’s fate.

“Alright, I could think this over all night and I don’t think I would get any further, so this is gonna have to do.” He put the pen down and faced them. “Eileen, you were right about it being possible to create spells from scratch through pure belief and intent alone, but it’s extremely difficult. I’ve only ever known a few witches who have managed to do it, but it is possible.” He paused and Dean took those few seconds to take a deep breath. He could already feel his hopes beginning to soar, and he tried to calm them. In his head, he knew how unlikely it was that they would succeed, but his heart didn’t care. All it had heard was _it’s possible._

“Most summoning and resurrection-type spells tend to have a few things in common. Every spell is different of course, but there are a few foundational elements that the majority of them have. Think of them as sort of like...building blocks. Everything that comes on top is just decoration really, specific to each individual spell, but they all need the foundations. And Nick, whether or not he knew what he was doing, had these foundations in place. Which is what makes me think that the spell he did wasn’t all that different from any old summoning spell.”

He flipped to the second page of notes. “The foundations are fairly easy. I think it’s worth a shot.”

Dean smiled so wide he was worried he might break his face. His hopes were officially on the upside of Heaven now. Sam met his eyes across the table and seemed to read his thoughts. He gave him a look that said _remember this probably won't work,_ but Dean could tell he was trying not to let his hopes get the best of him, too.

When Eileen spoke, she sounded just as elated. “So what are these...building blocks?”

“Well, most importantly, we’ll need something that means a lot to the person you’re trying to summon; I think that’s why Nick used the blood of Lucifer’s own son. Got any ideas?”

Dean knew immediately what they were all thinking, but it was Sam who spoke it aloud. “Can it be a person?”

“No. People may have temporary physical forms but their whole being, their consciousness and soul, is something that’s entirely...other. It has to be an object; something that will tie Cas to Earth in a purely physical sense. A person can’t do that.”

They thought for a moment, but Dean was already pretty sure he had an idea. Thinking about it, though, he realised just how few material things Cas actually cared about in this world. Dean wondered if maybe it was because he wasn’t an Earthly being himself and so Earthly possessions had little meaning to him. Or maybe he just placed so much of his love into people that he didn’t really have space for anything else.

He turned his focus back to the conversation at hand before he started feeling miserable again. “I'll take care of that. What else?”

Max nodded and checked it off the list. “We’ll need a piece of him. Like a hair or a piece of flesh.” _Gross_ was Dean’s first thought, followed closely by _son of a bitch._ This wasn’t like the last time Cas had gone to the empty; back then, his body had been left behind. There was nothing left of him this time.

“But Nick didn’t have a piece of Lucifer, how did he do it?” Sam asked.

“I can only think it must have been Nick himself. Being possessed, especially for so long, it leaves a mark on one’s soul; Lucifer left a piece of himself in him, and, whether Nick was conscious of it or not, the spell drew power from that bond.”

Max’s words stirred something in Dean. Something that he had spent far too many hours thinking about. 

“Well…Cas saved me from Hell, that’s gotta leave something behind, right?” He responded casually, trying to act as though he hadn’t spent many sleepless nights asking himself that exact question over and over in his head. He didn’t know why he’d never just asked Cas. He supposed he’d just felt kind of awkward about it. How in the love of all things holy was he supposed to drop, _hey Cas, remember that time you saved me from Hell? Yeah, well I was wondering if we swapped souls or something because I feel like I have this weird spiritual connection to you but I don’t know how to put into words,_ into casual conversation? He didn't know nearly enough about all that mystical bullshit to even take a guess. So he’d think about it for a few hours, then think for a while about how messed up his life was, then pass out.

 _Do Angels even have souls? Do they just have their grace instead, or both?_ He filed that question away to ask Cas, and then mentally scolded himself again for being so damned hopeful. He knew it would only hurt more in the long run if he let himself be this optimistic about their plan, but he couldn't help it. Dean hadn't realised how natural everything seemed to feel when Cas was near, until he wasn't. Everything now just felt...out of place. Like losing a limb. In fact, he thought that losing a limb was a pretty good analogy for how it felt to lose Cas - something that is such second nature to you that you take it for granted, and its not until you lose it that you realise how much you rely on it and you start to _need_ it more than ever before. The thought that he would never again hear that gruff, blunt voice that softened only for those he loved; the confused little comments that had Dean in literal laughing fits so often; the careless little touches he would leave on Dean's shoulder or arm or side, like he needed the constant little reminders that he was real. He wished he had appreciated those little things more. The thought that all of that might be lost to him now was _unbearable._

Dean had always thought Cas was just an affectionate being, probably as a result of being stuck in Heaven with a bunch of emotionless asshats for his entire life. But now, after Cas' confession, Dean knew there was more to it. In fact, the more he thought about it the more he realised Cas actually _wasn't_ that affectionate. Not with anyone other than Dean, anyway. He was nowhere near as casually-touchy with Sam or even Jack. Dean didn't realise how blind he had been until then. It was so _obvious_ how Cas felt about him; in all the little touches and the way he would look at him when he thought he wasn't watching. Dean wondered if, had he been a little more observant, things may have been different. Cas may have still been alive. He could have been sat here with them now, sharing a beer and looking at Dean with his eyes shining. It was right in front of his face. If he had only _looked..._

Dean shook his head of these thoughts almost immediately. He knew there was no use thinking about what he could have done differently. Cas' sacrifice saved him. If he hadn't been there to take down Billie, Dean wouldn't even be alive enough to _have_ these thoughts. His death was necessary. It was _torturous_ losing him again, but it was necessary. All Dean could do now was get himself together and bring Cas the fuck back. 

“Cas saved you from _Hell_?” Max interrupted his thoughts.

Dean shrugged, silencing the flashes of memories that always threatened to take over whenever that place was mentioned. “Old news, man.”

Max shook his head in disbelief, and Dean was glad he didn’t ask any more questions about the matter. “You guys never fail to surprise me. But...no, I don’t think that could be of any use to us.”

It surprised him when he felt a stab of disappointment in his chest. Though he’d never had confirmation that there was some kind of soul connection between him and Cas, he had just sort of assumed there was. He didn’t know how he knew, or why, just that he did. He couldn’t even go as far as to call it a gut feeling because it was something so...innate to his very being that it went far beyond any ability for a human to express. Sort of like how you know you’re alive even though there isn't really a rigid definition of life. You just... _know._

He had thought about the bond itself a lot, but never about how it made him _feel._ It was only now that Max was saying there _wasn’t_ a physical bond between them, that he realised how much he actually _wanted_ there to be. He felt just a little bit more alone now than he had thirty seconds ago. There was still a strong friendship bond between them for sure, but Dean had been sure there was something more to it...

Max must have sensed his disappointment, because he continued speaking. _Damned witches,_ he thought to himself, _how am I supposed to repress my shit with them digging around in my mind all the time?_

“No, Dean, you’re...you’re misunderstanding me. I don’t know for sure, but there probably _is_ a bond between you and Castiel, it’s just not one we can use for the spell.”

When all he got were blank stares, he elaborated. “Bonds that are formed when one being possesses another, like in the case of Nick and Lucifer, involve a kind of trade. A soul for a soul, you could say.” He paused, whether it was because he was thinking of what to say next, or for dramatic effect, was anyone's guess.

“See, Angels...they don't have souls, as such. But their grace performs essentially the same function. It's what gives an Angel consciousness and it makes them who they are." Dean gave himself a mental pat on the back at his deductive reasoning. Sherlock Holmes is turning in his freaking grave.

"The possessing party, in this case an Angel, has to take a piece of soul from the one they are possessing, and replace it with a piece of their grace. In return, the piece of soul they took from the other person is fitted into their grace." Max took a sip of his drink before continuing. "Possession bonds are...controversial, to say the least. It's difficult to explain, but possession bonds are born out of a need to have power over another, even if the possession is for the greater good. They are, at their most fundamental level, immoral. Especially bonds born from manipulation, such as in the case of Nick and Lucifer. The pure _evil_ in that bond between them..." Max paused and shook his head, his face a mask of disgust. "I think it made their connection even stronger. And I'll bet Lucifer being an Archangel made it powerful as Hell, too. No pun intended." He nodded at Dean. "There's a reason a lot of witches don't agree with possession; it involves losing a part of oneself to another. Nick _literally_ had a part of Lucifer within him. The only good thing about them is that the bond typically breaks when the possession is over, which is why you guys are still entirely _you_ , even though you’ve been possessed before.”

“But that bond, between Nick and Lucifer... because it was so strong, it stayed intact even after Lucifer had left?" Sam asked, his eyes alight with that characteristic nerdiness that made him so… endearing? Annoying as shit? Dean didn’t think he’d ever really figure it out.

“That’s right.” Max said. “And it acted like a battery for the spell; gave it the power it needed to work. But the bond between you and Cas, if there is one...that’ll be something entirely different.” He spoke directly to Dean, now, and he hung onto every word. “Dean, I’m no expert by any means but, if there is some sort of physical connection between you two, I guarantee it’s nothing like a possession bond."

"Saving someone from Hell." Max paused, shaking his head in disbelief. Dean would have killed to know what exactly was going through his head right then. "No, that's a connection born from sacrifice and goodness, which is different. Cas didn't want to overpower you, he wanted to _save_ you. You two wouldn’t have traded pieces of yourself, but you may have _shared_ them." Max paused for a moment, his brows scrunched in thought. "Connections like that are less powerful than possession bonds by a long shot, but they are utterly unbreakable. Which is, you know… sort of beautiful.” Max said, not an ounce of insincerity in his words. Dean tried his damned hardest to ignore the beat his heart just skipped. “But, unfortunately, it means we can’t use it to our advantage. Your soul is still entirely, well... _yours._ It’s being shared, but, it’s all there.”

Dean was speechless. Had Cas known the whole time about this possible super-meta soul sharing business that was going on between them? He had to have known… but why didn’t he ever _say_ anything?

Dean knew the answer to that before he had even finished asking himself the question. He probably assumed it would make Dean uncomfortable...which was a reasonable assumption on Cas’ part. He had crafted a stoic demeanour for himself over the years; an unbreakable mask of stone that he presented to the world to hide the broken man underneath. Well, almost unbreakable. Cas had come closer to cracking it open than anyone. He had peaked at the mess underneath and only seen beauty. And then he had spent his final moments on this Earth making sure Dean knew that.

But, despite all that, despite how many times Cas had encouraged him to be his true self, he had respected that he wasn’t ready for that yet, and so had kept the knowledge of their connection to himself. 

But Dean had guessed at it anyway...he had _known…_

He and Cas both held a piece of each other within them, and that’s as far as he could ever go to express it in words. But now, Max had just done exactly that.

As profound as these thoughts and revelations were, they still needed a part of Cas for the spell. Just as he was about to speak up and say _back to square one,_ Eileen, Jack bless her soul, brought them back into the game.

“What about blood? He left a bloody handprint on your jacket, right Dean?”

The lift in his spirit was instantaneous. “Max, would that work?”

“Should do. We don’t need a whole lot of it.” 

He ticked it off the list and Dean _whooped!_ internally... one step closer to getting Cas back.

“Right, one more thing and then we have the basics down. We’ll need a place to perform the spell; somewhere that’s significant to Cas. This one was a bit trickier to figure out, but I think Nick was able to summon Lucifer because he _was_ the place; he was his vessel.” 

“Well, the bunker.” Sam offered, gesturing absently to the space around him. “It’s his home.”

Max thought for a minute. “No, it’s too well protected down here. Too warded, it might mess with the spell and we can’t risk that.”

Dean ran through the various options in his head. There were a few places that came to mind, but none of them checked out when he thought about them for more than a second or so. The house where Jack was born was his first thought, but that place was fraught with more bad memories than good. Or purgatory, when they had been at their closest to one another, but... _just no._

He felt a lump in his throat as he realised that Cas probably didn’t even have one _purely_ good memory of Earth. Even the better ones, like the five of them sat around the table drinking and chatting nonsense, had always occurred when the world was about to end. There was always some undertone of worry. And the one thing that had been Cas’ true happiness, his first real moment of peace, had gotten him dead. 

He made a promise to himself then that he would change that. After what Cas had told him...he realised he was probably the only one that _could_ do that. If nothing else, he owed it to Cas. When they got him back, he would make sure to give him a _real_ first happy memory, not one that happened only because they were about to die.

It came to him, then. “The barn.”

Sam furrowed his brow at him. “What ba-” he began, but his eyes widened before he finished. “Oh...the _barn._ ”

“What barn?” Eileen asked, and Dean gave her the lowdown.

“It was the first place Cas appeared to me. The place we met.”

Max pondered this for a second, then nodded. “That should work.”

“Wait.” Sam said, “didn’t you _stab_ him?”

Dean huffed in amusement. He had forgotten that particular detail of their first encounter and wondered briefly how Sam had remembered it. It had been years since he had told him that. “Yup. The son of a bitch looked at me like I’d just flicked him between the eyes and knocked poor Bobby out cold.” 

Dean couldn’t recall a time in his life when he had felt as helpless as he did that day. Here was this guy standing in front of him, who had gotten through all the warding that he and Bobby had spent hours putting up, who couldn’t be killed by his demon blade or by bullets. And then he brought down Bobby, one of the best hunters he knew, as easily as flicking a light switch.

He had been afraid, _so_ afraid. But at the same time...not. Like he somehow knew that Cas wasn’t going to hurt him. Like how you know you’re breathing, even though you’re not consciously aware of it all the time. But he would never, not in a million years, have guessed that this juiced-up crazy dude with the grimy trenchcoat and a stick up his ass would become one of the most important people in his life. And he _certainly_ never would have guessed that he’d end up needing this guy like he needed air, or that losing him would hurt more than a rebar in the back.

“Awesome. The only other thing I think could be of significance is Nick’s prayer. I mean, it might not even have been a prayer; Jack could have misheard for all we know. It’s all just speculation from here on in.” Max said. “But we’ve got enough to go on for now. The rest we’ll just have to figure out as we go.”

Dean stood and dropped his empty bottle into the trash, giving them all a cheeky smile as he did so. “Well, what are we waiting for?”

~~~  
Dean checked the time on his dashboard as they pulled up outside the barn. It was just after 2am.

It had taken Sam a bit of convincing to come out at this hour. He had thought it best they all get some rest first and do this in the morning, but with Dean threatening to leave without him, and Eileen batting her eyelashes at him from the corner, they had managed to persuade him. He certainly felt a little bad about it, but not really. He wasn’t planning to wait a single second longer, and Sam knew that just as well as he did. 

He also knew Sam wasn’t going to let him do this on his own and, no matter how much he tried to convince them or himself otherwise, he was grateful for that. Grateful that they were taking just a little bit of the responsibility off of his shoulders, even though he knew intrinsically that this was a task he, ultimately, needed to do alone.

But, as it turned out, he wasn’t as okay with that as he had initially thought. As they made to get out the car, Max stopped them. “No, just you, Dean.”

“What?” He asked, shutting the impala door and turning to face him.

“The people present when a spell is performed can impact it, and since Nick performed his alone, I think only one of us should do it.”

“Why can’t you do it? You’re the witch here, not me!” Dean spoke, but he knew it had to be him. He had known it all along.

Max shook his head, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. “If Cas is gonna wake up for anyone, it will be you. But I think you know that.”

Dean felt panicky all of a sudden. He wasn’t a witch. He could stab a monster in the head no problem, but magic? Not exactly his area of expertise.

Max handed him the small duffel bag with the equipment they had packed before they left. “I’ve already told you the basics. Aside from that, you’ve just gotta do what feels right.”

He gulped, looking at Eileen and his brother. Sam gave him a smile that was supposed to look reassuring, but really he just ended up looking like a constipated mongoose. Eileen gave him a genuine smile and a thumbs up, which only made him feel more uneasy. His high hopes from earlier had faded a little; there was still far too much guesswork involved in this plan.

Disregarding his anxiety and the sudden feeling of insecurity, he placed the duffel under his arm and opened the impala door. “Well, see you on the other side I guess. Assuming the empty doesn’t, you know, eat me.” Without another look back, he stepped into the cold night.

The chill hit him immediately, but he barely felt it. He made his way across the small expanse of grass separating him from the barn, and when he saw it, the memories came flooding back. It loomed ahead like a corpse. Actually, Dean had seen corpses that looked better.

It was just as derelict and broken as he remembered, but much more sinister. Whether that was from another 12 years of neglect, the night playing tricks on him, or thoughts of what tonight might bring, he wasn’t sure. It’s dying walls crumbled under the pale moonlight as he approached ever closer.

He remembered walking this same route with Bobby what seemed like a million years ago, still ignorant to the existence of the celestial beings that had come to be such a huge part of their story. It was hard to believe there was once a time he didn’t even know who Cas was.

He walked the last few feet and hesitated, staring at the rusty latch in front of him that looked like it hadn’t been touched in years. He realised there was a chance he would never leave this place once he entered, he could so easily unleash something that might destroy the world. His one solace was the fact that the roof would probably collapse on him before he got to that point, anyway.

He knew there was no point in questioning whether this was a good idea. He knew it wasn’t, but there simply wasn’t a choice in the matter. If there was even a chance that he could leave this place with Cas by his side, he had to at least try. He wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he didn’t.

He pulled the latch, stiff from years of neglect, and it made a sound like that of a woman screaming. 

When the door opened, the first thing to hit him was the smell; old hay and a decades worth of rat poop. “Jesus, Cas. Why couldn’t you have popped up in a spa or something?” He muttered to the dark. He took a step inside, and the unsettled dust swarmed him immediately, making him cough into his elbow.

He knelt on the floor and pulled out the various ingredients that Max had told him needed to go in first; some herbs and small animal bones that would help bind the spell.

He took the small vial of Cas’ blood they had taken from his jacket earlier. It wasn’t much, just a few flakes, but that’s all they needed. He looked down at the small bowl and thought for a moment about what Max had told him. _Do what feels right._

He pulled his knife from the pocket of his jacket and cut a clean slice across his hand. He watched as his blood dribbled into the bowl, mixing with Cas’ and soaking the herbs. He really hoped he hadn’t just messed it up _already._

He pulled the final ingredient from the bag. A small piece of tape, about an inch long, that he had taken from the Zeppelin mix he had made for Cas. He had known straight away it was perfect for the ‘thing that means a lot to Cas’ part of the spell.

He could remember making it like it was yesterday. They had gotten into a fight about something, he couldn’t remember what, and he had made it for Cas as an apology. He’d never been particularly good with words, and the only way he could think to make things better was through music. It was a way of letting Cas know that he cared without actually having to say it.

Dean laughed to himself as he remembered the day he had given it to him. They had both been sulking about the bunker for weeks, avoiding eachother like the plague. Until then, Cas had always been the first one to reach out when they were in a fight. But this time, for whatever reason, he hadn't. And Dean was missing him like crazy, so he decided to take the initiative instead.

Dean had knocked on Cas’ door, and those first few moments of awkward silence, neither meeting the others eyes, were quite possibly the most uncomfortable few seconds of his life. And then, Cas had looked at the tape in his hand and said, in that utterly monotone voice of his, ‘Dean, why do you have a television remote? We don’t even own a TV.’ 

And just like that, all the tension slipped away. Dean erupted with laughter before he could help it, and Cas had looked at him like he had finally lost his last marble. And then he had pulled Cas into a swift hug and slipped the tape into his hand. It had taken a bit of time to explain to him what a mixtape actually was and how to work it, but once he had figured it out, Cas hardly ever stopped playing it. He had kept it quiet, but the walls in the bunker were thin, and Dean heard it bleeding into his room almost every night after that.

So, naturally, it was the perfect choice for the spell. He just hoped Cas would forgive him when he found out he needed to destroy the tape to do it. Maybe he’d make him another one, with even more songs. A variety of artists, this time; some Van Halen, AC/DC, Elvis…

Maybe they could listen to it together. Cas would love that.

He shook the thoughts from his head. He was drifting, getting ahead of himself. He needed to focus.

He dropped the small cut of tape into the bowl and mixed, just as Max had said. One turn clockwise, two turns anticlockwise. It was strangely therapeutic. The world around him fell into silence, even the wind was holding its breath.

There was very little light in here and his eyes burned as he struck the match. He dropped it into the bowl and watched, silently, as the tape began to melt and the herbs turned to ash. The smell made his eyes water; a wisp of smoke arose from the bowl and unfurled around his head. “Cas…” 

The word stuck in his throat like tar. His voice sounded far too loud in the quiet of the barn, only his echo as an audience. He took a few deep breaths before continuing. “I’m gonna be honest with you here, man, I have no idea what I’m doing. So if you could just, I dunno, pop up now so we can get the hell outta here...that would be awesome.”

No reply, which didn’t surprise him. Not even the wind heard his prayer. 

“Should have known you’d play hard to get. You never have made things easy for me, have you? Like...ever.” He smiled to himself as he tried to imagine that Cas was right next to him. _He’s right here. You’re just having a normal conversation with your best friend. Sam’s getting us a beer in the other room. Nothing out of the ordinary._

Unsurprisingly, that didn’t work either. He was always so...hyperaware, whenever Cas was near. Maybe it was the whole bond thing, or something else, but he couldn’t just pretend Cas was here. There was an ache in his chest that never seemed to ease. He looked up as he spoke, knowing Cas wasn’t up there, but he supposed it was a force of habit. A few stars spied through a small hole in the roof. He fixed his gaze on them, a reminder to himself that a world exists outside of this place.

“You know you never failed me, right Cas? I know you thought you did.” He swallowed against the lump in his throat, fighting against the memories surfacing in his mind. _I needed to come back with a win for you._

“But...you’ve always been there, man. Always. No matter how bad I messed up, you’ve always been there.” And he had. Through every apocalypse, every funeral, every fuck up. Cas had always been there in the one place he felt like he truly belonged; by Dean’s side. 

“You’ve made mistakes. You’ve made some pretty damn bad ones, but you’ve never failed _me._ Fucking up is just part of being human, and you, Cas...well, you’re more human than anyone I’ve ever known. You’re my best friend and I...I’ve failed you. I’m sorry, Cas. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.” Nothing. The stars, which had given him a small piece of comfort, now mocked him.

He stood and paced, like a lion in a cage. He ran a hand through his hair and took a shaky breath, trying to calm the anger inside, but the flames were already burning. _This is not the time for anger. Cas needs you, control yourself._ That thought got him to calm slightly, but he could still feel it clawing just under his skin and begging to be let out. It seemed like his anger had been worse than usual lately, which didn't surprise him. It always seemed to rear its head when he was anxious or upset. Like his mind was trying so hard to drown out these emotions, which it saw as weak, by just screaming _'no vulnerability for you Dean, just go punch some things'_ at him until those other emotions crawled into the corner to think about what they did. It screamed too loud now and Dean couldn't block it out. He knocked the bowl to the floor and yelled at the sky. “Answer me, you celestial son of a bitch! Why won’t you _answer me!”_ The night just watched him curiously; the silence dragging on, and on, and on.

He walked slowly over to the discarded spell, hoping he hadn't just screwed up his last chance at finding Cas. He knelt in front of it and dragged a thumb through the mess of blood and ash. His eyes stung and the anger melted away to despair and loneliness. Because he was lonely without Cas, wasn't he? Sure, he had Sam and Eileen, and he wouldn't trade them for the world. But Cas was... _more._ He was the family that Dean had _chosen._ When all of Chuck's handiwork was gone, when there were no more grand plans or scripts, there was only Cas and his love for Dean. Even Sam had been a part of Chuck's story, he hadn't chosen this life, it was thrust upon him. But Cas, despite it all, had chosen him every _fucking_ time. 

He dropped his head into his hands, despair taking over. He didn’t even have the energy to feel angry anymore. He just wanted to be numb. He wanted someone to rip out his heart so he couldn’t feel another damn thing. “Please, buddy. I need you here. I can’t do this without you. I don’t _want_ to do this without you.” He couldn’t have fought the tear that slid down his cheek. “Come back to me, _please,”_ he whispered into his hands.

“How touching.” The voice cut through the silence like a blade dipped in blood.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! Please go re-read the last chapter before you read this one as I have changed a few bits (because I found out Angels don't actually HAVE souls so the whole soul bond thing didn't make sense). Thanks!

Waiting was all Sam seemed to do lately. Waiting to stumble upon a lead; waiting for Dean to go to sleep so he could, because he knew Dean wouldn’t sleep at all otherwise; waiting for Chuck to show up on their doorstep, his powers restored, to turn them to dust. And now here he was, waiting, once again, and he was _fed up._

It wasn’t that he missed the constant rushing around they were used to; from case to case, state to state, with barely a break in-between. He had enjoyed the relative calm for the first few days after they had defeated Chuck, but Sam found that he was starting to long for that life again. Not the apocalypse-level threats, of course, but the usual cases that he, Dean and Cas had been dealing with for as long as he could remember: the ghosts, the vamps, the werewolves. Saving the world was great and all, he supposed, but more than anything he missed helping normal people.

But the more he thought about it, the more he wondered if it was even possible. In the past they had never gone looking for an apocalypse, but it had somehow always found them anyway, and he wasn’t sure he was ready to risk another one finding them. Or, more specifically, finding _Eileen_. He’d give up hunting in a heartbeat if it meant keeping her safe. He knew what she would have to say if he ever decided to speak that thought out loud. _I can take care of myself, Sam. I don’t need you to protect me._ And then she’d probably make some rude gesture that would set them both off laughing. And he knew she could, right down to his very core, he knew she could. She could take care of herself better than any hunter he had ever known. More than their dad, more than Bobby. Hell, more than he and Dean ever could for sure. But he also knew, no matter how strong she was or how much she protested, he would never stop trying to protect her. It was an instinct that was as natural and innate to him as breathing.

He complained about this life of hunting, and there were still times he seriously considered packing it all in and going back to school; living a semi-normal life after all they had been through. But the truth was… he wasn’t sure he knew how to do that. He wasn’t sure that was even what he _wanted_ anymore. Once, maybe, but it was so different now. He thrived on helping people - that was one of the main reasons he had wanted to be a lawyer. Sure, it wasn’t the life he had initially sought, but _it was_. He was helping to make the world a better place every single day. And he had a family; Eileen, Dean, Cas, Jack. Sure, they were all a little broken and hardly white picket fence material, but they were his, and he wouldn't trade them for the world.

Eileen’s soft touch on his forearm dragged him back to the present. She smiled over at him, her eyes concerned. “Penny for your thoughts?” She asked.

He cleared his throat and stared at the barn through the window, flinching as it stared right back at him. “I’m just worried about Dean. He’s been in there too long.”

Eileen took his hand and placed it between both of her own. “It’s only been…” she checked her watch, “seven minutes, Sam. He’s fine.”

He furrowed his brows; it felt like they’d been sitting there for hours, and her words didn’t make him feel any better. Max tried to comfort him with words of reassurance, too, but he didn’t think anything that anyone could say would settle his nerves right now.

“I just...I have a bad feeling, I guess.” And his intuition, especially when it involved people close to him, was usually right. Scarily so, if he was being honest. He had often wondered if it might even be a weird after-effect of the demon blood.

Eileen squeezed his hand. “C'mon.” She said, opening the side door.

“Where are you going?” Sam asked, the winter chill hitting him in an instant.

“For a walk. Some fresh air will do you good.”

“It’s freezing, do I get a say in this?”

“No.” She said, and climbed out without another word. Sam rolled his eyes and opened his own side door to join her.

“Uh, I’m not sure that’s a good idea. What if you two die and Dean doesn’t come back? I won’t have a ride home!” Max asked, pouting like a toddler. Sam shrugged and smiled at him cheekily.

“You mean you didn’t bring your broomstick?” He climbed out before Max could respond, but he could tell by the kids face that he probably didn’t appreciate the witch jokes. Dean would have found it hysterical, at least.

~~~

They walked together in silence for a while. Eileen’s warm hand in his own, and the soft squelch of her footsteps on the grass still wet from the previous day’s rain helped to calm his racing heart a bit. But he was still insanely on edge and he knew that feeling wasn’t about to go away anytime soon. Not until they had an answer, one way or the other. If Dean can get Cas back, which he hoped for beyond belief, then that’s that. But if not...well. Sam doesn’t know or really want to think about what might happen. It’s hopeless for him to believe that Dean might find some form of closure from it or that he might at least try to move on. He knows Dean is too far gone in this to give up, and he’s not gonna stop until it kills him. The thought that Dean could waste his life away in his desperate hunt to get Cas back terrifies him, but he also knows that he will never truly find peace unless he does everything he can to find him. Damn him and his stubborn, blinded ways.

Eileen slowed to a stop after a few minutes as they approached an ancient looking pine a little way from the car. They can still see the barn easily enough in the distance, so can keep an eye, but Sam thought it looked like a whole other place out here; as though they had walked through some kind of invisible forcefield separating the two worlds. The closer they were to the barn, the more eerie the silence felt. Out here, it was just quiet. Not a maddening quiet, but a soothing one. The moon and stars seemed to shine a little brighter out here too, as if the barn was a black hole and this tree the event horizon, and everything beyond it was fated to be cloaked in void.

He glanced at Eileen as she sighed, her breath visible in the cold air, and sat with her back against the pine. Sam was, not for the first time, momentarily struck-dumb looking at her. She was always beautiful, but there was something especially mesmerising about her tonight. She was almost ethereal as she let her eyes slip shut and her head fall back against the trunk, the pale moonlight flowing across her skin like a gentle caress.

“Quit staring and get over here, dumbass. I’m freezing.”

Sam obeyed without hesitation, sitting down next to her and curling his arm around her shoulder. He placed a soft kiss on her temple and she leaned into him, placing one of his hands between both of her own. For a few minutes they just sat in silence. With the wind numbing his skin and Eileen sat so close, he doesn’t think as much. _Just being near her,_ he thought, _makes me see the world that little bit clearer._

But the peace didn't last long, and he soon became restless again. He removed his hand from her own and placed it in his lap. It was too dark for them to see each other’s faces, but the moonlight streamed through the branches at just the right angle that they could see their hands. Sam smiled at her, glad that she wasn’t able to see the intensity of worry in his eyes.

 _Do you really think this is going to work?_ He signed. He still harboured so much doubt about this plan, but he respected Eileen's opinions more than anyone else's. She was one of the smartest people he knew, and he had known a lot of smart people. If there was anyone who could make him feel better about this, it was her.

She signed back with no hesitation, her hands perfectly steady as always. _I do. Maybe not today. Maybe not like this. But together, we'll find a way._

_How do you know?_

She lifted his hand up to her mouth and placed a chaste kiss on his knuckles before responding. _Because,_ she signed, _i_ _t’s Dean and Cas._

She didn't need to say anything more for Sam to understand what she was getting at. Dean and Cas had been to Hell and back together, _literally._ They'd battled leviathans in purgatory, fought literal and metaphorical demons every single day, fallen out and lost each other more times than Sam could even recall...and they had always found their back to one another. They were connected in more ways than even they knew, but Sam saw it. He saw how broken they both were when the other was lost; he saw how unconditionally protective they were of one another; he saw the way they laughed together and the stolen glances. And he saw how frequently they fought over silly and serious things, because of how much they _cared._ Which is why he wasn't even remotely surprised when Max had mentioned that Dean and Cas are bonded in more than an Earthly sense. 

Sam had found that whole conversation cool as hell, and had wanted to ask Max more about it. But after seeing Dean's face he had decided it wasn't the right time.

But he realised now how right Eileen was. The universe had tried to tear them apart countless times and never succeeded, why should this time be any different?

 _Because there's more to it this time,_ that little voice in his head nagged at him. He tried to ignore it, but the thought had been niggling about in his brain since Dean had first told him and Jack that Cas was gone.

 _He saved me. Billie was coming after us and Cas summoned the empty. It took her, and it took him._ That was all he had said, not meeting their eyes. Sam knew straight away there was more to it, and he had tried ever since to get Dean to talk about it, but so far he hadn't managed to get anything out of him. Dean had become an expert on avoiding the topic - either by changing it completely or just walking away without another word. In fact, Dean had avoided talking about his feelings on the issue completely. He stuck purely to the practical side of things - how the research was going, how to get Cas back... but he hadn't said a thing about how Cas' death had actually affected him. The few times Sam had tried to subtly bring it up he had been shrugged off. It worried Sam to no end, watching his brother struggling and being unable to help. This was nothing new - Dean wasn't exactly an _open book, lets talk about feelings_ kind of guy. He never had been. But this time was different. Dean was hurting on a level that Sam had seen only once before. A shiver ran down his spine as he recalled their earlier conversation in the bunker.

_He pulled Dean aside as he reached for his keys, placing a hand on his shoulder to keep him from bolting like he had a habit of doing over the last few weeks. Dean looked at him in confusion and tried to throw his hand off. "Dude, what is it? We gotta go."_

_Sam frowned as he looked at his brother close-up. There were heavy bags under his eyes and his clothes were crumpled, like he had slept in them. His face was hollow and pale as a ghost. Sam wondered how long it had been since he last slept. He knew he had napped the day before, but how much of that had been a peaceful rest? He'd bet the impala that Dean's nightmares had started up like they always did when his emotions were running high. He tried to pull away again, but Sam held him steady._

_"Dean, just... take a breather for a minute, would you? You feel like a damned statue with how tense you are." He tried to calm him, but his joke seemed to have the opposite effect._

_"A breather? I'm not a fucking pregnant chick, Sam. Let me go so we can get a move on."_

_Sam squeezed his shoulder in what he hoped was a comforting gesture before letting his arm fall back to his side. "Dean, if this doesn't work..."_

_His eyes were like stone. "It's gonna work. It has to."_

_Sam didn't like how hopeful Dean was about this plan. Was hopeful the right word? Maybe desperate was a better way of putting it. He was, himself, extremely sceptical. There was too much uncertainty and guess-work. Hell, for all they knew there might not even_ be _a way to wake Cas up. He knew that, if he were the empty, he would have put extra precautions in place for Cas after the last time he was there. Somehow he couldn't imagine it would want to take any more chances with him waking up a_ _gain. He wasn't trying to make Dean feel hopeless, not at all. He just hated the thought of him getting his hopes up, because if it didn't work...the failure would be that much harder on him._

 _"But if it_ doesn't... _"_

_"Then we try something else, and we keep trying until something works."_

_"For how long, Dean? We can't keep this up forever-"_

_"Until. Something. Works." Dean hissed through his teeth, his jaw set like a bear trap ready to spring._

_His voice was like ice, but Sam saw it, then. The fear in his brothers eyes; a fear so pure and consuming that he was taken aback for a second. Dean liked to think he was a closed book, and for the most part he was, but his eyes betrayed him every time. They whispered the secrets his body refused to show, and now they were screaming._

_Sam had only ever seen that kind of fear in him once before, the first few months after he had returned from Hell. No matter how much Dean had tried to hide it, he saw the fear and pain behind his eyes and in his forced smile. Sam had never felt so lost and helpless, watching his brother drown in himself. He had tried to hide it, but Sam had seen, and he saw that same fear in his eyes now._

_Sam wanted to hug him, but he thought Dean probably wouldn't appreciate that much. More than anything he just wanted to talk to him. He wanted Dean to stop shrugging him off and tell him what was going on inside. But if there was one thing Sam had learnt over these last years, it was not to push. Dean knew he could talk to him about anything, and Sam just had to sit back and let him come in his own time. It was hard, but backing off was the only way he ever managed to get him to talk._

_Sam took a deep breath and began to mentally prepare for whatever the Hell was about to happen. "Alright, let's do this." He said, smiling in an attempt to diffuse the tension. "But I'm driving, you look like shit and I don't trust you to get us there in one piece." He grabbed the keys from Dean's hand, ignoring his protests as he walked to catch up with an amused Eileen halfway up the stairs._

_She squeezed his hand. "He'll be alright. Whatever happens, he's strong."_

_Sam looked back at his brother, who had stopped cursing and was now staring at the names carved into the table with a longing expression. Specifically, one name._

_"Yeah, I know." He replied._

Except when it comes to Cas.

_He kept that thought to himself._

Sam didn't know how long he sat there with Eileen in silence, but it soothed him. When his thoughts drifted back to the present, he found he could breathe a little easier. At least for several moments, until there was a change in the wind that had Eileen on her feet with her knife out in seconds. It was subtle, but with all his years of hunting ghosts he was attuned to subtle changes in the environment around them. Eileen slightly more so, it seemed. Everything after that happened far too quickly.

"Somethings wrong." She said, and bolted for the barn without waiting for him. He didn't waste time loitering, and together they reached the decrepit door in no time.

"Dean!" He yelled, yanking at the door hopelessly. Eileen joined him, but even their combined strength wouldn't make it budge. His breath came in heavy pants as his heart rate soared. He couldn't hear anything behind the door.

"Stand back." Sam hadn't even realised Max was with them until he was in front of them and freaking _glowing_ and the door shook on it's hinges as he summoned the strength to open it, but still nothing happened. The glow fell away like a flame doused with water, and Max collapsed. They just managed to grab him before he fell to the floor. 

"There's...shit." He said, breathing heavy and struggling to get steady on his feet. "There's something powerful as fuck in there and it's weakening my powers, I can't get through."

The three of them stood there, watching the door in hopeless surrender. Sam was just about to start scouring the rest of the place to find another entrance, when there was an intense gust of wind that seemed to appear from nowhere, and the door flew open with a force that almost ripped it from its hinges.

They rushed in without hesitation, which, Sam realised after, probably wasn't the smartest idea. Max had just said there was something powerful in there, which is pretty good incentive to _not_ go running in like crazy people with nothing more than Eileen's knife and Max's (probably still weakened) powers to defend themselves. But Sam only had one thought on his mind: _Dean._

Sam didn't notice him right away; the dust was thick and suffocating, obscuring their view.

Strangely enough, when it cleared, the first thing he noticed was the bowl that Dean had used for the spell, cracked on the floor with the discarded ingredients scattered around it. It was another couple of fear-filled seconds before he noticed his brother sat, alone, a few feet from the bowl. His knees were pulled up to his chin and he was staring at the empty space in front of him, pale and clammy, like he had just seen something far worse than a ghost. 

Sam rushed over and knelt in front of him. His eyes were glazed over and for a few seconds, Sam didn't see his brother sat in front of him. Dean was somewhere far away, wherever that may be, but he sure as Hell wasn't here.

“Dean, are you okay? What happened? Where’s Cas?” He asked, but Dean gave no sign of recognition until Eileen knelt down beside him and placed a tentative hand on his shoulder.

"Cas is..." Dean gulped, his voice shaky and slightly hoarse. Sam almost cried looking at him, then. He was like a one-man ship on the ocean that had just watched the last lighthouse, its last guide, blink out into darkness. Stranded, lost and utterly, irrevocably alone. Sam placed a hand on his arm in an attempt to anchor him, but it didn't seem to help much.

“Cas is...he’s not...he’s not here.” Dean stuttered, and passed out.


	6. Chapter 6

Dean was up in a flash, his knife wielded and ready to slice some demonic bitches.

Meg just quirked an eyebrow at him casually. “Now, now, Dean. Is that really necessary?” She gestured to the knife in his hand and pouted, her voice dripping with the usual condescending tone. He gripped the weapon tighter as she moved a few paces toward him. She smirked and walked right up to it, hovering her face just a few inches from the sharp tip. She inspected the blade like it was a new pair of shoes she was considering buying. Dean wondered what would happen if he just thrust it into her eye right then, but he knew it would only make things worse. It wouldn’t kill her, for one, since she wasn’t technically a demon anymore so the use of a demon blade was pretty redundant now. It might piss her off a little bit, though. Dean wasn't sure he could risk it, no matter how satisfying it might feel.

Second, she had Cas, and Dean wasn’t going to risk jeopardizing his one chance to get him back. So he held the knife steady, even though every instinct was screaming at him to do the opposite. They locked eyes as she reached out a finger and nicked it on the sharp point; her blood looked like tar as it pooled around the wound. She studied it for a second before placing it in her mouth and sucking in some pathetic attempt at seduction. Dean didn’t even flinch, but his hand shook with how hard he was squeezing the blade.

“What, not even a... hello?” She smirked at him, looking at somewhere that was definitely  _ not _ his face.

“Where’s Cas?” He asked, his voice sharper than the blade he held. She moved her eyes back to his hand.

“Drop the knife, Dean. You’re not gonna stab me and you know that as well as I do.” Dean just gripped the handle impossibly tighter.

“Try me, bitch.” He said, but the shakiness in his voice gave him away.

“Now, now. Didn’t mommy ever teach you basic manners? Before she burned to a crisp, I mean.” Dean knew she was deliberately trying to rile him up, but he didn’t indulge her. He set his jaw and repeated his question, harsher this time.

_ “Where’s Cas?” _

Meg just huffed and rolled her eyes dramatically. “God almighty! It’s true, isn’t it? Men really do only want one thing. Put the knife down and we’ll talk. Deal?” Dean didn’t buy it for one second, but he lowered his arm to his side. His grip didn’t loosen, however. Letting his guard down around the fucking empty was not something he saw himself doing at any point in the near future.

She brushed some phantom dust from her jacket before sizing him up with her eyes. In that moment he felt like he could sympathise with zoo animals everywhere.

“You’re awfully loud, you know that?” She started walking in a close circle around him, her eyes never leaving his form. “After what your little God-boy did, you’ve got some nerve thinking you can just waltz back here and make a racket when I was just beginning to get my kids back down for their naps.”

He froze. What was that supposed to mean? Had Jack done something? Dean was pretty sure he would remember if he had mentioned something like that. Either she was lying or Jack had deliberately hidden something from them, and Dean was far more inclined to believe the former.

“The Hell you talking about?” He spat at her. He didn’t have time for this. She moved back around to his front and looked him dead in the eye.

“You mean he didn’t tell you? Now...that  _ is _ interesting.” Her gaze dropped to his lips but Dean didn’t tear his eyes from her own. Her eyes were so dark brown they were almost black, but there was an even deeper shadow in them; something crueller than he had ever seen before, even in a demon. She flicked her tongue out to run it across her lips, and the action reminded Dean of a snake getting ready to strike. “Your little Nephilim-wrapped bomb…” she sneered, “woke up _everyone._ Do you know how annoying it is trying to convince beings that have slept since the dawn of time to go back to sleep? Do you, Dean?”

He thought about that for a moment. If Meg was being truthful, which he sincerely doubted, why would Jack have kept something like this from them? He supposed that, with everything else that had been going on, maybe he just hadn’t gotten the chance before going all Bruce Almighty. He made a note to talk to Sam about that later if he made it out of here alive, but for now there were more important things he needed to worry about.

When Dean looked back at her face, he realised pretty quickly that something had changed, and he was overcome with the sudden sensation that he was drowning. He felt like he had been enveloped in ice and was unable to take a single breath. Time froze around him and the world came to a halt; he had the sudden urge to crawl into a hole and just fucking die. He wondered, briefly, if this was what it felt like to be in the empty.

But the feeling was over before it had started, and when her face swam back into focus it was like nothing had happened, but he felt like he was seeing her for the first time. No, not her.  _ It. _ This...thing, in front of him, may look like a woman, but underneath there was something older than time itself. And it was...Hell, it was  _ angry,  _ so angry and powerful that it made Lucifer look like the freaking tooth fairy. 

She smirked as though reading his thoughts. “Tell me, Dean.” She said casually, like they were making small talk at the corner shop. “Have you ever considered just, I don’t know, giving up? It’s a Hell of a lot easier.”

Dean bit the inside of his cheek, unable to stop the retort. “Have you ever considered, I don’t know, biting me?” He spat back, he could feel his face warming with rage. _Keep it together, Winchester. You have a job to do._ _Don't piss her off._

She smirked at him, her eyes roaming his face and down his body. He tried his hardest not to cower under her gaze like a fucking scolded child. “Oh, I’ve certainly considered it…” she said, “but I don’t think you’d like it all that much, would you? And not just because you think I’m evil or something -"

They were interrupted by the sound of yelling from outside.  _ Dammit, Sam. _ A sudden panic seized him as he started banging on the door. She seemed to be ignoring them for now, which was something, but he didn’t know how long she would keep that up. He knew how easily she could crush them from here with just the flick of a wrist, and he wanted to yell at them to stay back, but he didn’t know how Meg would react to that. He just had to hope she’d be gone before they managed to get in. 

Dean pulled his gaze from the door back to Meg, who was inspecting her nails like they were the most interesting thing in the world. A sudden fury began to bubble under his skin. He didn't care how powerful she was, or how easily she could turn him into a pancake without hesitation. All he could think about was Cas, alone and afraid in that desolate place, thinking about how he would never again feel the sun on his face or grass under his feet, or taste anymore of Dean's crappy cooking or hear music ever again... and that's if he was even  _ awake. _

He needed answers and he needed Cas,  _ now. _

Without thinking, reached forward and grabbed Meg by the collar of her shirt, slamming her against the wall with a force he didn't know he had. He hadn't even realised he was holding a knife against her throat until he saw thick black goo ooze from her skin.

_ “Where is he?” _ He spat, the urgency seeped through cracks in his armour.  _ Stupid, _ his mind screamed at him.  _ Now you're _ definitely  _ toast,  _ but Dean had never been one to comply with his head.

Meg just shook her head at him in pity. “Oh my,” she said, “you really are lost, aren’t you?”

Dean ignored her, pressing the knife harder against her throat.

“That spell of yours wasn’t bad, you know. And your little prayer was so  _ cute,  _ I almost felt something for the first time in millennia. Almost." She mocked, her tone so patronising that it had Dean wondering how big of a catapult he would need to launch her into the freaking sun. "It might have actually worked, too. Or maybe I would have just thrown him back to get you to _ shut up. _ ”

“So why the fuck didn’t you?” He growled.

“Well…” She shrugged nonchalantly, "that’s kind of difficult considering he’s not actually, you know,  _ there.” _

His blood turned to ice in his veins. She was lying...she had to be, since Dean had seen the empty take him with his own eyes. _She’s just trying to get to you. Don’t let her._

As difficult as it was, he bit his tongue. If she killed him then, Cas would be stuck in the empty forever. And he’d be damned if he let Cas suffer for eternity because of his fucking smart mouth. “Listen here, sludge face. I don’t know what kind of game you’re playing, but I want out. I couldn’t care less about you or your... hospitality problems. All I care about is Cas, so give him back to me and we can both be on our merry way.” He sneered at her. Aside from the whole sludge face thing, he figured that was a pretty calm response.

“I don’t like being called a liar, Dean.”

“Then don’t fucking lie.”

She clenched her jaw, and Dean wasn’t sure if it was because of his retort or the fact that the barn door started freaking  _ rattling.  _ Meg growled deep in her throat, her eyes darkening with a hatred so intense it made him flinch. 

“Why is everything on this planet so goddamn _loud?” _She snapped her fingers and the rattling stopped. Dean looked at the door and back to her with wide eyes.__

____

____

“See, isn't that so much better?”

“What did you just do?” He asked, his voice fraught with fear as images of Sam, Eileen and Max turning to dust ran frantically through his mind.

“Oh, untwist your panties, would you? I just shut them up for a bit, that's all."

He pressed against her impossibly harder and she smirked crudely. "If you've hurt  _ any _ of them, I'll slit your goddamn throat, so help me God."

"You killed God, remember? But, go ahead..." She pressed her head forward until her mouth was a hairs width from his ear; more blood spilled from her throat as she pressed into the blade, but she didn't seem to notice. "But I should warn you, it's a real turn on for me."

When he felt her hand snake up under his shirt, he pulled back and punched her in the mouth; his knuckle stung with the impact but he didn't flinch. Annoyingly enough, neither did Meg. He'd probably just given himself a death sentence, but it sure felt fucking good.

When Meg smiled, her teeth were painted black with blood (or goo, he wasn't really sure). She spat onto the floor and wiped her mouth with her sleeve. "Now, is that any way to treat a lady?"

"You're no lady." Dean spat back.

Meg slunk away from the wall and paced in front of him, sizing him up like a slaughterhouse worker judging a prized cow. “Do you know much about the human soul, Dean?” She asked. Dean didn't know what he had been expecting her to say, but it certainly wasn't _ that.  _ He thought back to his earlier conversation with Max about soul bonds. Is that what she was referring to? If it was, then she's either been eavesdropping or that's one wacky ass coincidence.

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"Oh, you know. Only  _ everything. _ "

Dean sighed and ran a hand through his hair in frustration. Why are evil sons of bitches all so fucking cryptic? Were they all rotting in Hell when fucking straight answers were invented or something? He thought about Cas in the empty, and Sam outside. It was eerily quiet and he didn't like it one bit.

"You see, Dean. I made a little...error, I guess you could say, when I made my deal with Castiel." She sneered as though the thought of making a mistake was the most disturbing thought in the world to her. "When he made his little confession, which was adorable by the way, it changed him more than I could ever have anticipated."

She paused for dramatic effect, but continued after Dean urged her on with a threatening swish of his knife. They were finally getting somewhere and Dean felt hope and dread begin to fill his chest at once. She was talking at least...he just hoped it wasn't going to be something he didn't want to hear.

"When God spat out the Angels from his omnipotent orifice, they had one job - to defend Heaven." Dean tried really,  _ really _ hard not to think about that image. "They weren't supposed to feel happiness or love, they were celestial weapons and nothing more. That was where I slipped up. You see, Dean, when Cas experienced his moment of happiness, it ignited his soul."

His blood ran cold at her words. A  _ soul?  _ But only humans can have souls...did that mean...

"So, Cas is... _ human?" _

"Well, not exactly. I can't speak for the present tense, but when he came to me he was part-human, yes. "

"What the Hell are you talking about, _ part-human _ ?" He asked, his voice laced with irritation. He just wanted a damn _ answer _ for once - preferably one that didn't come with a dozen more questions as baggage.

"If you let me  _ speak _ for a second, I'll try to dumb it down for your puny human mind." She paused and regarded him like he was a worm she had just squashed under her shoe. "When he came to me, his grace was still intact, but this new soul of his was intertwined so deeply and so thoroughly with his grace that I couldn't  _ possibly _ separate the two. Still an Angel, but with too much humanity for me to keep." She shuddered as she said the word _ humanity, _ like it was a parasite that needed to be avoided at all costs. "Poor sucker, he never did have it easy, did he?"

Dean's head was a mess of jumbled thoughts and questions.  _ Were his powers still intact? Is Meg even telling the truth? _

One found it's way out of his mouth without prior thought, as though he was on autopilot. _ "So where the fuck is he?" _

“Awe, you mean that big man brain of yours can't figure it out for itself? Think about it. I couldn't keep him because of his humanity; Heaven and Hell couldn't take him either because he was still  _ technically _ an Angel. Too much paperwork." She raised an eyebrow at him. "It's fitting, really. Your broken Angel never did quite fit in anywhere. Not even Heaven wanted him, in the end."

The realisation hit him like a truck and the air rushed from his lungs in an instant. There was only one place left that he could _ possibly _ be.

"Purgatory. Cas is in Purgatory." He gulped, his mind seized with a panic that threatened to take over. He could feel the blood rush in his ears and he dug his fingernails into his palms in a desperate attempt to not pass out.

Turned out he was right that letting his guard down in front of the empty was  _ not _ the smartest idea he'd ever had. In less than a second, Meg had disarmed him and thrown the knife across the room, where it lodged in a stray wood panel. She shoved him so hard he fell back onto the floor with a pained grunt, and stood over him with a foot on his chest. 

She regarded him with an irritated and disapproving look that made him feel like a naughty toddler who’d just spilled juice on the carpet.

“Look at you. The unshakeable Dean Winchester, brought to ruin by a fallen Angel that can’t even  _ die _ right. You’re pathetic. You try to push it down, but I can see into your heart. I know where it belongs -" she pressed her foot harder against his chest and struggled to catch even one breath. Any harder and he feared she might actually snap his ribcage and her leg would punch straight through his heart. "And I saw Castiel's too, you know? I saw how  _ weak _ it made him. Once a warrior, now discarded to the trash heap of the universe with the rest of the broken toys."

She moved her foot from his chest and he spluttered, coughing blood onto the floor.“Your precious Angel was human  _ long  _ before he had a soul. Oh, how the mighty have fallen.”

But the ache in his chest, now free from primordial tootsie, only seemed to worsen with her every word. He pushed it down, knowing now wasn’t the time to deal with this. He had to get out of this alive, make sure the others are okay, and get Cas back. Then he could think about this.

But there was also a part of him, the part that knew himself too well, that knew he  _ wouldn’t. _ He would always find some excuse. He had played this game with himself over and over for as long as he could remember and he was caught in eternal stalemate. There was no escape until he finally grew a pair and confronted his heart. 

Maybe if he had done it sooner, Cas would still be here.

A sudden wind erupted in the barn and dragged Dean from his thoughts. When he looked up, the thing in front of him was no longer Meg. It wasn’t even a form; more like the absence of a form. When it spoke, it’s voice was a deep rumble in his head.

“Now, I’ve given you the answers you wanted and I didn’t even smite you once. Do not call on me again. Next time I won’t be as forgiving.” 

Dean shielded his eyes as she imploded in a mass of black soup. When the fog cleared, Dean was left staring at the space she had been. He wasn’t entirely sure what the had just happened; his mind was a cacophony of questions and images. Images of Cas in the dark desolation of Purgatory, afraid and alone, trying to fight off the hordes of leviathans and vamps that lurked around every corner.

Did Cas even have his powers? What if his humanity was somehow interfering with things on the Angel-side? Dean had barely gotten out of there alive and he was a trained hunter. Cas wasn’t, and without his powers he was as good as dead. If he was out there fighting leviathans  _ unarmed... _

Dean needed to move  _ now, _ he needed to get his ass to the trash heap of the universe or whatever the empty had called it, and he needed to get his best friend back. But when he tried to stand, he found he couldn’t. The world was blurring in and out of focus and every beat of his heart sounded like Cas’ name, like it was calling out for him. If it beat loud enough, would he hear? 

He thought he might have sensed a touch on his shoulder and a soothing voice, but he didn’t get time to ponder it before the world turned black and he was gone.


End file.
